


out of this world

by bleakmidwinter



Series: It all started in San Martin de los Andes [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fingering, Just a little treat, M/M, Only a Mention - Freeform, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, Reflection, Teasing, Will being the biggest tease known to man because he knows he is, cottage life, dog life, mention of rape fantasy, mostly for me who was going to go mad if i didnt write more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26710594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter
Summary: In their small cottage in Bredsten, Danmark, Will and Hannibal indulge in their love.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: It all started in San Martin de los Andes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943833
Comments: 8
Kudos: 154





	out of this world

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as entirely separate from the first installment. Just a PWP basically. But, it is a continuation of "Duende"
> 
> [Title from the song "Out of This World" by Bush]

“Tell me about her,” Will implores. 

The question being asked is requiring complete divulgence. Not the usual glimpses into Hannibal’s past he is rewarded after small bouts of intimacy. He wants to know the color the sunset was the night it happened. He wants to know where Hannibal’s first bruise made its place on his skin courtesy of the ingrates who murdered Mischa. Will wants to know how she tasted. What Hannibal’s first depraved thought was when he put her meat to his starved, adolescent lips. 

Of course, he won’t voice the specifics.

Will is lying horizontally against him on their couch. Hannibal’s arm is lazily slung around him, the other propping up a book on the back cushion. He’s been more open lately, as open as his body language. More pliant in the ways Will has always desired him. 

It makes him selfish for the secrets unspoken. 

Hannibal, mastermind of understanding, knows exactly what Will is asking of him, even without this subject being brought about at all until this evening. 

He stretches back to place his book, half-read, on the counter beside the couch. He bookmarks it with one hand and brings down the other to gently brush his fingers over Will’s stomach, back and forth against the cotton fabric of his shirt. 

“My parents loved my sister more than they loved me,” Hannibal tells him this without an ounce of resentment, a truth he must have accepted long before her death. “I could not blame them, as she was my entire world. One of the few things I could understand of my parents was their unconditional love for her.” 

Will tries to imagine Hannibal being able to love something other than him. 

“I’ve always been curious what the bond between siblings must feel like. I was an only child,” Will says, focusing on the firm comfortability of Hannibal’s shoulder against his cheek, and the rhythmic stroking over his stomach, soft and consistent. 

“It is like falling in love without romance and without falling. There is pure attachment, and it warms what is cold. It makes sense even when there is no source for it. I have always felt that people lie to themselves about their affections for their siblings, even if they are determined to hold only contempt for them.”

Will instantly thinks of Margot and Mason, and Hannibal all but reads his mind.

“If Margot did not love her brother, he would have been dead long before she took up appointments with me,” Hannibal notes. “You can hate and love at the same time.” 

“I know all too well,” Will mumbles, but squeezes Hannibal’s side affectionately. He is rewarded with a quiet snort and a kiss to the forehead. 

“Tell me more?” Will asks again, because he knows Hannibal needs the nudge. He is willing to give Will his entire body, mind, and soul, but the insecurity and the inner turmoil is all too close to the surface, emotions Hannibal spent decades of his life burying so deep that they’ve all but suffocated in the dark, dirt-filled, crevices in his mind. 

Hannibal brings the hand of the arm cradling Will’s shoulders up to Will’s hair and delicately brushes through the strands there, freshly showered, pristine and newly dry. 

“I do not wish to speak their names,” Hannibal whispers, and Will knows who he means. The men who killed Mischa. The men who defiled their impressionable, young minds. 

“That isn’t necessary,” Will assures. He doesn’t care about their names. Doesn’t care for their story, or their brutal legacy. He only cares for Hannibal’s. 

“The war criminal who led the group was the man who did it, eventually. They starved us, for a while. They would wait a few days at a time before giving us water, waiting until the brink of our dying of thirst, before passing one glass between the bars to satiate us both. We did not see their leader for weeks at a time. It was just his men who tortured us, long after our parents had been killed. To this day I still do not fully understand why they chose to capture children and do what they did, though I suppose not all questions can be answered by psychiatry.” 

“And they didn’t feed you until…” Will can’t say it. 

“It felt like months without food, but I knew that it could have only been weeks, or I wouldn’t have been alive. Even at that age, I knew.” 

“Tell me,” Will whispers, kissing his shoulder and observing his body has completely tensed. It is unnatural, but entirely expected. Hannibal does not open this room in his mind palace, it has stayed closed for the majority of his existence.

“I awoke one morning and Mischa had been taken. There had been no good-bye,” Hannibal’s voice strains over the last word, but he quickly recollects himself before continuing. It makes Will’s heart ache. “I believe it had to be the third week without food, they passed me the bowl with her parts. Her heart specifically. Raw.”

Even with all the wickedness Will has dipped his toes into, he cannot stomach the thought of this. The group of men that had done this could be considered worse than animals, in Will’s eyes. 

“After what seemed like a lifetime without food, it tastes like a delicacy, and it was the first and last time I truly hated myself for anything,” Hannibal admits, and Will knows what it must have just cost him to admit this out loud, even to Will.

Will’s conditioning from his childhood prompts him to say the normal,  _ it wasn’t your fault, you were just a child, Mischa wouldn’t blame you, _ but he knows he can’t. He doesn’t want to. It would be insulting. 

Instead, he asks “Did it feel good to kill them?” 

Will looks up to see Hannibal’s expression shift from a dead, cut-off look, to a warmer, thoughtful one. “It didn’t bring Mischa back,” is all he says. 

“You had a taste for it then,” Will tries to picture the exact moment of his becoming. Hannibal nods slowly, fingers brushing over his stomach slowing nearly to a stop, but continuing still. 

“I’d always had it in me. Men like Frederick Chilton have always tried to analyze my reason for existing in the way that I do, but nobody created me. I created myself. Those men had just taken the one thing I loved from me. It perhaps ignited my becoming, but they certainly weren’t the reason for it.” 

“That’s good, because my trauma consists of sticking a fork in an electric socket, and failing math,” Will mutters, belatedly hoping it doesn’t come across as insensitive, but Hannibal chuckles light-heartedly, ruffling his hair just a little. 

“I’m sure before we ended his life, our dear Frederick was working on a book all about you, Will. And, I’m  _ quite  _ sure there was a whole chapter on how Pre-Algebra shaped your pathological need to kill.” 

Will grins, pushing up to kiss his jawline. 

“Thank you,” he says genuinely. “I know it’s not easy to talk about her.” 

He knows they will again, just not now. The mood is back to a stable, light feeling. Not even Will wants to retreat back to the same topic again. 

Bit by bit, Hannibal will reveal more of himself to Will over the years. That’s all he could ever ask for. 

Hannibal doesn’t ask why Will is often curious about his childhood, about the ways his youth had been changed so drastically. Will is certain he has some sort of psychiatric explanation for it that he knows Will would roll his eyes over if he spoke it aloud. 

Hannibal’s gaze drifts from his eyes to the scar on his head, still there however faded it may be. He kisses it as he often does, and presses Will closer to his body. 

“Since, Misha, I have loved no one. I do not know what dimension you crawled out of to break your way into mine, but you have ruined me for all of time,” Hannibal says in a low, reverent voice. 

Will raises a brow. “Now that doesn’t exactly sound like a compliment.” 

In their quiet Danish cottage in Bredsten, the rumble in Hannibal’s chest could be mistaken for that of an animal just outside their window, before he is crashing their lips together in a sudden, wine-tasting kiss, laced with unbridled passion. 

Will pulls back breathlessly, before shifting just enough so he can be pushed on his back. Hannibal crowds him down into the couch cushions, aligning himself familiarly with his body, lurching down to suck a hickey into his neck, already speckled with marks left in the wake of their love. 

Will arches up against him, for a moment allowing himself to feel like he and Hannibal are the only existing things. There is no couch, no house, no placement of their physical selves in this universe. There is only them, their souls, and the sheer warmth of pleasure and bodily contact. 

One of Hannibal’s broad hands strokes down his sides, hiking up his thigh to encourage Will to surround him entirely, and the jolt of arousal that runs through him causes a moan to spill out of his throat, needy and unrestrained. He clutches Hannibal’s hair and shoulder for support. 

“We’ll wake the dogs,” Will tells him breathlessly, rolling up against the irresistible friction of their bodies. Electricity lights up his spine. 

“Hold on,” Hannibal orders, and Will wraps himself completely around him before he is hauled up bodily and slowly carried to their bedroom where Hannibal places him gently on the sheets, unwilling to let their bodies part for more than a few seconds. 

He hovers over Will as he languidly unbuttons his clothes, his pants, stripping him from his daily armor as he reveals his nightly canvas to paint as he pleases. Will lies still until they are both undressed, dragging Hannibal down for a grateful, lazy kiss. 

Will is agonizingly hard, rolling his cock against the sweaty crease of Hannibal’s thigh, and he hisses when their cocks brush up against each other, all dry skin and warm desperation.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this to me,” he mumbles and Hannibal hums in question, kissing him until their lips are both slicked wet and sliding against each other with ease. 

“You’ve shaped me like clay,” Will whispers in his ear, reaching down to palm at Hannibal’s cock. It is already quite hard, but responds deliciously to Will’s touch, growing wet at the tip. “Before you, I didn’t have that red-blooded drive for sex all the males in our species seem to be breathing their every breath for.” 

Hannibal curls a hand in Will’s hair and draws his head back so he can mouth along the tight-skinned column of his throat. Will whimpers, pressing up into him. 

“I want you all the time, I want you inside me, I want to be inside you. I want to taste you, only you. I want your scent to surround me when we make love, and when we don’t. You’ve made me crave you.” Hannibal’s top lip curls up delightfully at that, pressing a biting kiss to Will’s mouth before descending lower and lower down his body. Will’s cock springs up at the gesture

Elegant fingers wrap around his dick, and Hannibal starts bobbing up and down the shaft with the goal of getting it wet before pawing at the pile of clothes on the floor, retrieving a bottle of lube. 

Will has different plans tonight, but he’ll play along for the time being. 

Hannibal seems content to suck his cock and finger him idly until the dull thrum of pleasure from within becomes a buzzing need for release and Will is grasping his hair for more and less at the same time. “Hannibal, stop,” he pleads, and it does not sound genuine. It sounds like he’s begging for Hannibal to continue, but Hannibal stops entirely, crawling back up his body. 

Will kisses those red, swollen lips of his before flipping them over with all his strength. They bounce momentarily before Will soars down to kiss him with a wide grin. He adores taking Hannibal off-guard. It’s as if Hannibal still has this view of Will as a pure, inexperienced young man who hasn’t been fucking him for near half a decade. 

Straddling his legs properly, Will reaches behind himself to line Hannibal’s cock up against the crease of his ass. He doesn’t push it inside, he lines it up so the tip of Hannibal’s cock rubs up against his hole with every movement. Hannibal would have to reach down and position it himself if he wanted to get inside, but he remains still, as if awaiting Will’s permission.

“You’re so good when you need to be,” Will praises, running a thumb along the line of Hannibal’s plump, well-used, bottom lip. 

Hannibal’s eyes are sparkling up at Will with dangerous intent. He wants to bury himself inside of Will and nail the living daylights out of him, and the fact that he’s restraining himself makes Will’s cock throb, and jerk against Hannibal’s stomach. 

Will gyrates his hips, encouraging Hannibal to move. Hannibal does, in very miniscule thrusts, just enough so his cock is sliding through the slick crease between his cheeks. 

“I want to see how long you can do this without going crazy. I don’t care if it takes hours. Do this until the thought of not being inside me is something fatal to you,” Will mutters, meeting his movements with purposely muted urgency. 

“Will,” the protest stumbles out of Hannibal’s mouth before he can stop himself. His composure returns fractionally, and in an even voice he adds, “You know my resilience is substantial.” 

“When it comes to little old  _ me? _ ” Will asks innocently, thrusting back a little rough, so the tip of Hannibal’s cock catches on the rim of his opening. Hannibal’s grip on his hips tighten and a light hiss releases from behind gritted teeth. Will smirks, “Didn’t think so.” 

With a shred of mercy, Will leans down to kiss him, giving him something familiar to focus on while he ruts up against Will. 

Hannibal wraps his arms under Will’s, stretching them out over his back so he can maneuver him. Will smirks when the thrusts come in a little stronger, and Hannibal kisses him with a little more tongue. 

“You can’t come like this, I know you can’t. So don’t try.” 

Hannibal raises a brow, caught, and returns to gentle kisses, suddenly at peace with Will’s choice of torture for the evening.

Will could easily break himself. The coil of arousal in his gut is drawn tight, and with every wet scrape of Hannibal’s hard cock against his opening, he lets out a soft breathy noise. This is a test for Hannibal, not for him, so he collapses down onto his elbows and buries his face in Hannibal’s neck, kissing and biting, making marks that will be remade in a few days time. 

It is a good enough distraction. 

Hannibal has to raise his knees up to follow the repositioning of Will’s body, and with the changed angle, his dick presses up against his hole on every thrust. After a few minutes of this and a pained moan from Hannibal, Will hysterically wonders if he could really thrust inside with enough force. He might let him. 

Hannibal’s hand has found a place on the nape of Will’s neck and he digs his nails in when his cock catches on his rim again, this time nearly popping in. He doesn’t have enough leverage, and the lube isn’t as slick as it was when first applied. 

Will kisses his cheek. “Not until you’re out of your mind for it.” 

“I could take you now if I pleased. You wouldn’t know if I was following your orders, if I’ve reached that point, and I could make a genuine case about being  _ far  _ past that point by now.” Hannibal’s voice is rough, edging on desperate. Will smirks. 

“You could. I wouldn’t stop you. But,” Will drags his nails down Hannibal’s sternum and lifts up his hips enough to settle back down on top of his cock, rotating his hips around so his cock is pressing up against the back of his balls. He goes back to the original position and Hannibal’s hips jerk up, uncontrolling of the gasp that falls from his lips. “I know you well enough to know you’ll wait for me. You like my games too much.” 

Hannibal’s eyes are darker than molasses, and he tangles Will’s hair in one hand, dragging him down for a kiss while he trails the other hand down Will’s back, pressing a hand over his own cock so it slides harder against the crease of Will’s ass. 

Will whimpers into Hannibal’s mouth, grabbing both of his wrists and pressing them to the space above Hannibal’s head. His knuckles rub against the wood of the headboard and Hannibal keeps himself there as Will sits up straight on his lap and moves back against him in miniscule motions. 

Will brushes his own hands through Hannibal’s chest hair, closes his eyes and imagines his thick cock inside of him as he grips onto him here, his reigns against the tumultuous passion they would create together.

“Open your eyes, darling,” Hannibal commands so softly, Will wonders if he heard it in his head, but he feels fingers on his cheek. His eyes flutter open in response and Hannibal adds, “Let me have your eyes. At least grant me that mercy.” 

It is Will’s turn to jerk his hips and he grabs a hold of his cock to stave off the sharp, unsettling surge of arousal that comes with those words. Hannibal’s eyes gleam and his cheeks rise in a non-smile. 

A drop of pre-cum drizzles out of Will’s dick as Hannibal’s cock catches on his rim, again, and again. Each time he thinks maybe he’ll slip in. Maybe it’s possible. But, he doesn’t. They continue undulating indolently until Hannibal looks absolutely driven mad.

It happens in one seamless movement. Hannibal careens towards him, one searing grip on his thigh, the other arm snaking around and positioning the head of his cock into Will’s hole. 

Will doesn’t have enough time to process the action before he’s sinking down onto Hannibal’s cock with a shocked cry. White noise drowns out any strategy he might have had up his sleeve as Hannibal starts to thrust up, not giving him more than a second to adjust. 

The friction is different; they normally use a generous amount of lube and tonight is no different, but the lube has half-dried. It feels almost as if Hannibal has taken him without any consideration, a façade of Will being an unsuspecting or unwilling lover. 

It strikes up a fire within him, reflections of fantasies he never dared explore rising to the surface like smoke. Would Hannibal play along? A consensual non-consensual fantasy? It seems almost too crude and unforgiving even for Hannibal’s tastes, and yet Hannibal will do anything Will asks. It isn’t a conversation for right now; now, there is no time for conversation. 

Hannibal is more than animalistic tonight. He is selfish and greedy, gripping Will’s hips with bruising force, dragging him down onto his cock over and over, and Will is more than pleased to be along for the ride, meeting every thrust with equitable fervor. 

“Fuck yeah,” Will groans when Hannibal thrusts up hard, a direct hit on his prostate. “Oh, fuck, Hannibal.” 

The noises of their skip slapping together and the heavy panting and breathy moans bring them both close to the edge, and they make eye contact briefly as they collide. It nearly tips Will over. 

Hannibal makes a hurt sound, burying his face in Will’s neck, kissing and biting until he is coming with a jolt and a grunt, inside of him. He reaches down to stroke Will, still having enough presence of mind to know he’s close. He’d be right, Will doesn’t need more than a few slick jerks over the head of his cock, then he’s tumbling forward with a wail, fingers growing claws as his sweaty hands refuse to find purchase on Hannibal’s shoulders. 

“Holy shit,” Will says in a rush, feeling Hannibal's cock slip wetly out of him.

With gentle hands, Hannibal cups his cheeks and kisses him chastely. Will’s heart throbs, still pounding against his rib cage from the overwhelming sex. 

“Oh, Hannibal,” Will mutters lovingly, following him down on top of the crumpled up sheets and kisses him with unharnessed affection for what feels like hours, until the post-coital bliss wears off and exhaustion makes itself known. 

Hannibal has told him he adores Will most after sex. He is tender, pliant, and loving in a way that is rare in his natural state of defenses and sardonic attitude. Will can’t find it within himself to mind that, and he makes sure to clearly exude his love for him in these moments, so Hannibal doesn’t have a moment’s doubt about his feelings. 

“We should clean up,” Hannibal mumbles, and Will hums in absent agreement, too fucked out to actually go through with the suggestion. 

They fall asleep with their minds empty and their bodies sated. Full of love and optimism for the future; it has been a long time since Will has felt fear.

**Author's Note:**

> will be another one. had not planned until half way through when i sorta wanted to see will's "nonconsensual" fantasy as it were come to life so expect that in the near future. sorry i have really bad kinks and shit, that's what this site has to deal with. xoxo


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